Deeper into the darkness

Beating styles are just as individual as fucking or kissing or as a unique accent when you speak.

I love love love love to feel his hand on the crest of my ass. Just resting there. His fingers, his palm, his thumb. I could draw an outline for the blind school.

I lie on my face, on my stomach, naked, vulnerable, turned towards him, so tender, so white, so smooth. He holds me down and I can feel his power. The tiny hairs on my back and thighs stand up in slow shared electricity. I know he is going to spank me.

Suddenly I get nervous. I slurp the air in little puppy breaths. I want to run away in my sheets and knickers.

People say you can't feel what your senses don't tell you, so if you can't see or hear or taste or smell there is no way of getting information, but I don't know. I felt his hand hovering above my ass. I could feel how he was thinking, waiting, watching me. I waited, too. I waited and the waiting filled the space between us.

His delight and excitement was all his own, just like his voice that changed and sunk down almost an octave deeper into his chest when he got to this point in the session. It was as if he became part of something greater than himself, but still uniquely him. He had a very special way of responding to my responses, with sometimes a little time delay as he adjusted to an unexpected reaction. He loved those moments.

He later said that Doms were the 'uber subs', watching and listening for the submissives' signals all the time, the moans the shouts the little squeaks of delight, the big screams of pain and ecstasy, the faintest echo of terror so they can stop if we need it before we even know.

How the colour of her skin changes. How she is warm or cold.

How she breathes.

Right now I breathe hardly at all.

I can't see him, I can't hear him, I can't feel his touch, but my whole being is tuned into him. Sometimes I wish this part would last forever. Sometimes I dream of lying there, suspended, for a very long time, not knowing what will come. Knowing what will come.

He arouses my passion, he serves my passion. He expresses his passion on me. On my body. On my soul by driving me so, so forcefully, so harshly, so relentlessly into surrender.

Now I can take his passion into me. My body is there for only one purpose: to receive his beating. I enter a plateau of pain and passion. I am surrendering to the violent shaking of my body. My body becomes his. His to use, his to beat, his to own and transform.

The inside of my vagina is humming. My lips are aching to be touched. The strokes on my ass wake up all the connecting channels between my sexual organs.

I want, I want, I want, I want, so much to be fucked. Right now. Now, now, now, under the beating. Simultaneously. Beaten and fucked. Fucked and beaten. I want a hard penis in my vagina, I want it to be rammed in and I want to be taken as hard inside as I am beaten.

My screams change to deeper moans, I can hear the change myself, I'm not controlling it, it just comes out of my body, out of my voice, out of my mouth. I'm not controlling my voice, my master controls it. My master controls me. He plays my whole body like a big drum.

I feel submission rush through my skin from head to foot. To lie here, dress pushed up, knickers pulled down, on my face, on my stomach, to be pushed into the corner of the bed, to be held down by my Dom. To be spanked. To be beaten. I am getting a beating from my Nai. He dominates me.

He works on me, he works for me, he is the master and the magician's assistant, he sends me where he himself cannot go.

I am so free. I am flying through the night, high above death. Finally, the wild savage physical sensations match the wildness of my inner life.

How did I get here? - I was a BDSM hermit

My whole body cramped with longing. I had tied my ankles together so that I could feel the sweet surge to my vagina.

They say that self knowledge makes you free.

Maybe. It counteracts the demons inside your soul.

But it also makes you feel your pain more acutely.

All these years I knew who I was.

I didn’t feel guilt, I didn’t feel shame.

I felt this was just me.

But I didn’t know how to make it real except in my own bed and within my own mind and soul.

I was a BDSM hermit.

Sometimes, most times, I could live with it.

I said to myself: yes, I want to be a Submissive to a Dominant in real life.

But I couldn’t be.

I said to myself: yes but I’d like to have my own opera house too.

Some dreams are only possible for a fortunate few, a very very fortunate few.

So then I was lying in my bed, awash with longing.

So much longing it spilled out in tears.

I saw my shadow on the wall and it was all I had.

I did have lovers.

Of course, throughout my long life before I found my Nai, of course I had lovers.

But they were not the lovers I saw in my deepest dreams.

I had sex, but I did not live my true sexuality.

What was it like, in the long long years before I found a way to meet my Doms? (yes, I did meet them, on my journey, even before I met my Nai)

Before I even thought of having the courage of trying to devise a way to go and find them?

Negotiations

We looked at each other and we talked. We talked.

We talked about sex.

We talked about bondage positions, about impact sensations and the various instruments that we loved and desired.

We talked about blindfolds, about leather straps and ecstatic altered states.

It is the way of the BDSM people.

Talking like this is our tradition.

I believe it was originally introduced by the name of 'negotiations' between people who might become play partners, perhaps for a while, perhaps only casually.

Negotiations were and are considered necessary to establish the 'limits' particularly of the submissive partner, the boundaries of what could happen between them.

For me, and certainly on this evening with my Nai by the river, it was much more.

It was a way of talking about our identity.

Both our separate individual identities, a much more intimate way of introducing yourself than telling your date a potted personal history, and of course much more to the point.

But even more so we were establishing our common identity.

With every cautious, polite and gentlemanly question we showed each other our most intimate sexual desires and revealed our secret and carefully guarded true nature.

I saw the look of recognition in his eyes when I told him how much I loved to feel the touch of the bonds holding my wrists so tightly behind my back.

He took his fork and wrapped it round a morning glory stem, coated in garlic sauce, and put it down again. He ran his finger along the old seams of his backpack.

This was not just a statement about sexual preference, not just a more precise identification of where we stood within the world of BDSM, although it was that too.

It was finding, against all odds and all experience, someone who shared the dream.

And who might, if all went well, perhaps, possibly, eventually share it with us.

Right now, though, it was all the magic I could take to just see him share my dream, and I his.

And to talk with each other in the ways of the BDSM people.

I sat there, just as ineffectual with my food as he, raised my glass to my lips and put it down again.

I closed my eyes experimentally. He might disappear.

That would be the reasonable expectation.

When I opened them and he was still there I knew that a new age had descended, or perhaps I had been translated into another, unearthly realm.

Transformed into the person I wanted to be.

He made no assumptions. He never touched me except for that one time with the jasmine garland. He said who he was. And he was who he said. Against all attacks, he had preserved his innocence. In the strangest way, he was like me.

And, of course, in many other ways, we knew nothing about each other. When I finally said to him, over the roaring of a defective tuk tuk, so that I had to shout in his ear like a public announcer at a sports event, that I would like to have sex with him that very night, I had no idea and maybe not even any intention of anything beyond that.

Through a cascade of sparkles from the roof of the Royal Palace and hundreds of smoking and argumentative tuktuks and sudden desperate hunger satisfied with deliriously sweet banana goo and late night fears and confusion we somehow made it, we made it into our first night, in the way of the BDSM people, but even more so in our own way, the first night of Senta with her Nai.

I never bothered with the back up dates.

The first stroke

The pain is so sharp!

So sharp!

A band of flesh across my ass stands out in agony.

Raw and broken.

Blood rushes into it. Heat sears it.

Nothing else is as alive.

My Nai shifts his balance. He waits until the lash has blossomed into a welt.

Then I get the next one. On the other cheek. It’s just as hard.

I have to scream.

It makes no difference.

The whole width of my ass is burning – from hip to hip.

He lays the belt on the crest of my ass. That is where the next lashes will go.

I feel desire, I feel fear. I feel his fierceness, his ruthless desire.

He will go through with it.

He will force me through.

Fiery lashes fall down with precision.

He lays them on deliberately, band by band.

He marks me as his prey. I am going to wear his marks for a long time. I am his. With every stroke I am his.

I drip cunt sap.

He never stops. He never seems to tire.

My thighs, my ass, my back.

I feel myself defined by his lash. I emerge into a new being, this is me.

My Nai beats me again. This one lands on top of another welt. I didn’t know I could scream like this, like a braying mare.

There is so much pain.

I don’t know why but somehow I lose my concentration. Maybe because there is no time to absorb. Maybe because my Nai has withdrawn, away from me, into the world of his private dreams. Maybe because this is the fiercest beating he has given me so far, and I need time to catch up, to match up.

It is too sharp, it is too hard, it is merciless.

I want to ride it but he will not let me.

I want to think but I get flooded.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t …

I can’t breathe.

I can’t take it any more.

‘Stop! Stop!’

He stops immediately.

There is such urgency in my voice.

He shakes my shoulder, he lies down half sideways, half sliding off the bed. His face comes into view, so close to mine.

Where is the flood of sounds and pain?

There is silence. There is my Nai.

‘Are you alright?’

I can’t say anything. I can’t even look.

He puts his arm around me and holds me.

The touch brings me back.

His presence, so close and so loving, brings me back.

Warm tears start flowing.

‘I don’t know what happened’, I managed to sob out.

‘I just couldn’t – I couldn’t get into it…’.

He gives me a kiss.

‘Do you need to stop?’

He looks into my eyes.

Do I?

I know we can stop here. We can stop any time.

That reassures me. Yes, we can stop. We can cuddle, we can fuck, we can enjoy teasing my breasts or humiliating me. Maybe this beating is over. It is up to me.

I feel a fierce pull deep in my womb. My cunt spurts out her liquid. The sharp stripes of pain on my back are slowly turning into tingling welts, the deep bruises nudge my engorged tissues. A wild, intoxicating desire sweeps over me. I am aroused by my bruises, I feel every inch of my welts burning gloriously, I crave and need and crave the sting of fresh lashes by my Master’s belt. I want to fly.

Maybe I just needed to know, not in theory but here, right now, during a heavy beating, that my Nai will stop if I need him to stop. I feel loved and safe and ready to be whipped until I am deep, much much deeper under him.

I don’t have to reassure him by repeating my consent, he trusts me as I trust him.

He resumes with his full strength.

No hesitation.

The belt sears into me, the pain is fresh and deep.

I scream but I am not afraid. The impact shakes the core of my being. But now I am riding the tremors with him.

He accelerates the lashes. I go wild with high octane energy.

Thighs and ass and back are blazing. He strikes me hard across my upper back.

And then, and then, like an alchemist forcing slower metals into higher resonance, he whips me into subspace flight.

I have wings – such a strong feeling that I have wings. They spread from my agonized shoulders and encompass my whole body.

I can see it under me as I rise.

Pale and curvy and beautiful.

With deep dark red welts that follow the contours of this living sculpture.

I don’t feel any pain. I feel the pounding as pure energy.

Driving me higher.

I scream and cry.

That drives me higher too.

I don’t know what I am becoming, but I don’t need to know.

I feel so much love for my Nai.

I wish he could come flying, too.

I am his prey, his huge wild bird.

The curious backpack

The backpack was old. A little torn at the top, where you had to draw a string together to keep it closed, and with rough edges that showed a pinkish colour underneath the black skin.

It was the backpack he carried on the night when I first met him. When he had looked so much like a man who had remained behind from former times.

He told me later: 'I was very surprised, on the first night, when you said you would have sex with me'.

'But,' I said, 'but you had your backpack.'

'Oh yes,' he said, 'always keep the doors open.'

It was a lot to carry just for an open door.

And then there were the freshly cut bamboo sticks. He had cut them that day in his garden.

All the objects in the pack had been put carefully together. They were both a snapshot through the layers of that moment in his life and a collection from his whole history in BDSM.

There were soft scarves, some with a whip or a flogger wrapped inside them, there were laundry clips and suction tubes, there was a heavy collar and a furry blindfold.

There was a strong little paddle.

And – he had an old well-used belt. Yes he did! I shivered with excitement and recognition when I first saw it.

It was wide, and thick, and softened with usage.

He saw how I looked at it.

In that moment we passed an invisible threshold.

It was a moment of extraordinary electricity, miles of film footage of possible scenarios raced past our eyes.

Then we connected again, very directly, in this moment.

He picked the belt up and held it in front of me.

I was lying on the bed in the retro-colonial room, looking up at him, half curious, half seductive.

When he showed me the belt, I slipped off the edge of the bed so that I knelt and presented my bottom.

I was already naked.

He was still dressed.

I looked up at the belt, mesmerised with all the possibilities and meaning. I felt his hand on my head, pushing me towards it. He was a little rougher now, just a little.

I submitted and followed him until my face touched the worn leather.

Then I stuck my tongue out and licked it. I licked it from the end where it was already disintegrating a little, slow wide strokes with my tongue towards the buckle. I trembled with adoration and submission. He caught me by my hair, pulling my head up slowly and powerfully so that I had to lick the entire length of his belt.

Even through my own shivers I could feel him shake, too, his whole body shook as he held me and held up the belt for me to lick and then kiss.

It was a moment of great luminosity, come to shine into our shadow lives.

I started to cry and pushed my face into the sheets, still shaking.

Then I felt the cool leather slide onto my back, curling up like a snake. My Nai arranged its coils into perfect positions while my skin yearned for its touch.

'Hold still,' he said.

As if I could have done anything else!!

He stood and looked at me, for a long time. I carried his belt on my naked back, the instrument of my future pain and humiliation. Strongly desired, by him and by me.

I held my own breath and only heard his. I, a warm living woman, was the image from his dreams.

It took a long time, in that first session, before I was allowed to feel his belt.

First, as he always would in the future, he told me I would get spanked by his bare hand. A lover's hand. He slipped the belt off my back, he wanted me naked and vulnerable all over my body.

I pushed my ass in the air, quiet, quiet, quivering in quiet. This waiting and submission was so sweet.All the sensors in my skin expanded. It made me exquisitely sensitive. For what was to come.

Even then, he caught me off guard. He didn't like me to be prepared. He enjoyed that last little edge, where I wasn't able to give my spanking to him, where he overwhelmed me with it.

He was a true connoisseur of spanking.

Maybe he also waited because he knew he was on the threshold of showing himself, as he really was. The first stroke was incontrovertible proof of his unacceptable and savage desires. Maybe he was assaulted by doubt and fear.

Just like me.

And as the object of those savage desires he chose me, me of all women. I was there, to receive his beating. I was witness to his need.

Then he gave me my first hard slap, across both cheeks with his open palm. It pushed a little shout out of my throat. He gave me the next one deep on my sitting bone and I yelped, and then I laughed and we were no longer afraid.

It turned into a long-drawn-out, hard, wild, fast, and increasingly painful spanking. My Nai spanked me harder with his hand than many other men with implements. And, even that first time, he was so tuned in to my body, my voice, the slightest changes in my being and responded to them easily and fiercely.

But all that time while he gave me his hand, hard on my ass and my ass turning hot and sore under his strokes, he placed the belt so that we could both see it, in front of my eyes on a white pillow.

When I shouted out loudly, when I struggled and jerked with the impact of his open palm, he pushed me down on the bed and held me there and said, just said in his dark slow voice, a voice that had emerged only with his first blow:

'Look at the belt.'

People say

Well at first people didn’t say much.

That was because they didn’t know.

Because I didn’t tell them.

But I could hear them all the same.

What are you doing, giving up all your plans for a MAN?

You should have put yourself first, your project first, like when you went to the other island, the one with the lizard in front of your door.

You should be independent and not depend on anyone, any man.

What are you putting up with?

This is someone who isn’t sure what he wants.

This is a guy who is conducting an affair although he’s married.

Yes, well, he SAYS he is living a separate life from his wife, and yes we KNOW how these rich upperclass people live, thank you, you don’t need to tell us that, we know better than you anyway.

And he SAYS he has made an arrangement with her.

Alright you say you know that from other sources, and, yes, alright, we believe you. Yes, it’s true. We DO listen, you know.

But still …

He can’t marry you.

And this is just on the outside of your relationship.

Let’s talk about more intimate matters.

So you say you are doing all this because you finally found the right match, the man you’ve been looking for all your life? Just listen to yourself!

This is romantic drivel. There is no such thing. Get your head out of your book.

But let’s not stop here.

Let’s look at your precious BDSM desire.

So you want to submit. Submit to a man.

Well, we won’t go into that. Right now.

Also not into your desire to submit itself. We’re saving our breaths on that. You’ve argued back on this one for decades.

But.

Do you really want to make that the FOCUS OF YOUR LIFE?

You are living for sex.

And you know that by any standards of any society or group in a society that you have ever been part of or believed in you are not allowed to do that.

You are living for sex.

Oh look at yourself!

He’s beating you up! Yes! And you are submitting to him!

Oh shut up with all that rubbish about your true sexuality, you are with a man who is beating you. And you are addicted to it.

You are … you are sick … you pervert …

My mouth

Since he’s already on top of me, he just moves a little further up. I am still bound by my wrists. He checks my arms and unties the scarf that ties me to the bed but my wrists are still bound together. He doesn’t want me to get too exhausted. Yet. There is so much more to come.

Instead he guides my arms down in front of me and lifts me up. I kneel on the bed. I feel the mattress sway and hear the sound of linen dragging on linen and I don’t know where anything is and I don’t know where I am and then I feel my Nai’s penis against my face.

Maybe I should just open my eyes?

His cock is not quite soft and not quite hard. My Nai rubs it over my cheeks, my forehead, my lips, the line where my fine hair starts, everywhere.

This is new. He’s never done it before, at least not with me. He hesitates a little. It is up to me to give a sign if it is too much for me, or if it causes me any distress.

I lift my face higher and brush my cheeks against his cock.

He loves it. I’m not sure if it is the special texture of facial skin that gives him so much pleasure or if it is the idea of rubbing his cock over my face. Maybe he enjoys having a woman submit to him in this way. Maybe it comes from one of his dreams. Maybe it is something unheard of and he enjoys his freedom. Maybe he feels domination and tenderness together. Whatever it is I feel honoured he is daring to show it to me and to allow me to make him happy. All I have to do is be here and give him the freedom of touching me in any way he wants.

I feel a surge of devotion and love for my beautiful Nai.

His cock stiffens as he moves it to trace the shape of my mouth, and it moistens my lips with a soft film of liquid.

‘Suck my cock.’

I open my mouth to kiss and encircle the penis head and take it in.

When I first gave oral sex to my Nai I was the Queen of Subtle.

I delicately teased the tip of the head, I experimented with different kinds of pressure, I was cautious and respectful. I didn’t want to hurt him, and had just had a string of lovers with very sensitive cocks.

But my Nai is different.

I didn’t realize it for myself, he had to tell me. I think he felt a little embarrassed about it, at first. But he told me, with a little laugh, when I was talking about all the delicate spots on the penis head, and how I was going to softly lick them and explore them without squeezing too hard (and didn’t even mention ‘other men’, oh I hope I didn’t mention other men but perhaps I did?), saying ‘I’m not so sensitive’.

So the fact is that, particularly when he’s not very hard yet, my Nai wants it rough.

I don’t suppose there is any other way to say it.

What he likes most of all is a really really strong sucking while I press and constrict the stem of his penis in my hands. Wet hands, wet with my spit. I can feel it shuddering and jumping inside my strong fingers and inside my mouth when I do that and my Nai is very pleased with me.

My Nai’s cock is thick and strong. It is pale, like the rest of him but it has two little freckles half way along its stem. I always lick the freckles with particular tenderness.

I want to please my Nai. Because I submit to him and because it is such a joy for me.

I take as much of his cock in as I comfortably can and start to suck, and stretch, and squeeze. He sighs.

I am quite a muscular girl and my bound hands form a base all around him. Maybe today I’ll just squeeze as hard as I can. I’ve never quite dared to do that but if I just watch and listen for the tiniest little sign of distress …

I can feel his cock jolt and grow. He loves it.

I’m not sure I know my position in time and space but I know I am keeling and in bondage and all that is real for me is my Nai’s cock in my mouth.

I feel a delightful humiliation at that thought.

As his penis grows, the rim at the base of the head becomes more pronounced. I love the feel of that firm penis inside my mouth and I love to run my tongue around the rim while it is inside. Blood vessels are pulsing against my tongue. I press back at them and follow the rim all round, as if I was trying to engrave another, deeper rim inside this one. Like water caressing time.

Then, still holding his penis very tight between my lips, I run the deeper and wider part of my tongue over the top of the head. I suck him in until he touches the threshold of my throat. All my adoration and devotion pour into the way I kiss his cock.

That’s how I feel it: these are all deep deep kisses.

I take him into the most intimate part of myself, my mouth, the place where the words are formed that make me human, where I express what makes me an individual.

For a very long time I didn’t give oral sex in a casual encounter and I told every man, BDSM or otherwise, before I had sex with him.

Some men were annoyed, others bewildered.

I tried to explain about the place of words, and how it is so much more intimate for me to take a penis into my mouth and kiss it and keep it there, deep inside, than to take it in my vagina which is after all the place where it belongs.

Penis and vagina are a natural. Everything else is cultural conditioning.

It is incomprehensible to me that men routinely expect a woman to give them oral sex before they even have vaginal intercourse. As if they were entitled to it.

Another reason is that I have a very small mouth.

That’s important to know if the penis is particularly wide.

As my Nai’s is.

But I love sucking my Nai’s penis. I even use this word. Sucking. Which I normally dislike. Because of the way men use it. It’s not that I find sucking and licking and kissing his cock humiliating in itself. I don’t.

I do find it humiliating if I’m tied up while I do it or if I have to do it under particularly demeaning circumstances and it can be intensely exciting.

But the pure act, no.

What I love with my Nai is what I refused with so many others: the intimacy.

When I hold him in my mouth, I adore him.

When I kiss him with my tongue, I love him.

Maybe the fact that unlike the vagina, my mouth doesn’t experience any sexual sensations from touching his cock contributes, curiously, to the intimacy now. All my movements and actions come from my mind. They are all conscious, they are all connected to my thoughts and feelings, they come from what I feel for him, specifically, as a person, as my Nai. Giving oral sex is an expression of love, not sex.

On the other hand know I can enjoy, really enjoy vaginal and to a certain extent clitoral sex with almost anyone. Unless there are very strong emotional reasons, my vagina just glories in her lust. And with practically every penis, she knows how to get what she wants. She wraps herself around him and makes sure he visits all her sweet spots and fucks her up and down and round and round. And then she has her climaxes. A few. Ok, quite a few. And then the big one, and she relaxes and is happy. And for her, the moment is complete.

Unless there are other factors, there is no unnecessary attachment.

It’s not my vagina who commits. Or falls in love.

My Nai knows the story of my refusal to give oral sex. Of course he does, I gave him the speech over cooked flowers in the little restaurant by the river.

And he knows what an exception he is. I know he doesn’t completely believe it because he doesn’t really understand. I know he likes to think of it, though, and be proud. But I’m not sure that he, that any man can realize the full significance.

Right now he fills my mouth right up to the roof.

I suck his whole penis longingly, I press my lips together and his cock is pressing back. It slides down into me. I can’t breathe but what does that matter if I can kiss my Nai’s cock.

‘Enough’, says my Nai. ‘That’s enough for now.’

‘Next time you’ll lick.’

I reverently release his cock and look up at him from my submissive position, sputtering a bit.

‘Thank you Nai, for letting me kiss your cock.’

He looks down at me, sitting on pillows, resting against the head of the bed. There is a look on his face that I can only describe as ‘pure’.

I seem to have crossed some invisible border for him. And now we are on the other side, together. He’s decided to let me stay.

There are so many things we don’t understand about each other, and so many things that will remain inside our heads, forever, lonely, never communicated. We misunderstand each other so often. But right now we can see each other. We don’t see everything, and it doesn’t last. But here it is. Nothing to obscure the view. Nothing held back. Nothing hidden. My Nai looks at me and I look at him. That’s all there is.

He strokes my hair again, very softly.

‘Now’, he says, ‘you’re getting a beating.’

My vagina opens up and a huge wave of submission surges all over me.

‘Yes, Nai’, I whisper, ‘please. Please, Nai, beat me.’

Never again

Later, much later, a sympathetic Dom and lover suggested that I should overcome my bad experiences in BDSM by thinking up contemptuous names for my first Doms. Those names would not have been difficult to find.

It was kindly meant.

But as soon as he said it I knew that I didn’t want to think of them with contempt. Relief that I got away, yes, hope that I would not have to go through it again, yes, sadness, very very much.

But not contempt.

Never again. Never again I say to all of us.

There are enough people who despise us. I will not be one of them.

And here again my tongue is held and stopped by my knowledge.

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